


It's Alright

by nitohkousuke



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Che'nya is a chaotic gremlin who does care really, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, Riddle Rosehearts is bad at feelings, implied: Riddle Rosehearts/Cater Diamond/Trey Clover/Deuce Spade/Ace Trappola
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitohkousuke/pseuds/nitohkousuke
Summary: Nightmares to 3am Tart making with the almost help of a Chesire Cat.Riddle copes with the after effects of overblotting.
Relationships: Riddle Rosehearts/Che'nya | Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	It's Alright

_ His throat fills with black. His whole body is on fire and yet it’s ice cold like it really doesn’t belong to him. He can’t move. He can’t scream. He is not his own.  _

_ Has he ever been but a puppet for someone else to live out their desires as he desperately tries to pretend that he is in control? _

_ “That isn’t how it’s done.” His mother’s voice calls loudly from above him, and when he looks up her looming form looks down as coldly as it ever did. The puppet strings from her hands control his every action, their barbed thorns dig harder into his skin the more he tries to pull himself away. “The rules. The rules. Riddle, you disgusting child, how could you forget the rules?!” _

_ A book falls from the sky and as it opens, words spew out suddenly. Their inky forms shove themselves down his throat, mixing with the vile blot that threatens to kill him. _

_ His mother’s form collapses into a pile of decaying roses and the puppet strings that she once had instead launch themselves from him. Their thorns dig harshly against his skin, as he watches them pierce each one of his friends through the heart, old and new. _

_ “The rules.” He finds his lips move beyond his control. “The rules. How could you forget the rules?” He hisses and he watches each one of them turn to him, crying black ink. _

_ “You’re just like your mother.” He hears whispered, but he can’t find out who it’s from. _

_ “No!” He screams and he tries to do something, anything. He tries to pull the thorns from his body. He tries to remove them from his friends. _

_ Can they even be friends after all he’s done? Can they ever forgive him? _

Waking up to a loud, piercing scream he only barely recognizes as his own voice is startling enough. What’s worse is the way he instantly heaves over the side of his bed, just making it into the garbage can with the reflexes of someone who’s maybe done this before.

Taking deep breaths that border on hyperventilating, Riddle buries his face into his hands, surprised by how wet they are from his tears. He hates it. He hates crying. He hates the way his emotions, the nightmares, his entire stupid personaltiy make him feel so small and so out of control of everything in his life.

Disorder is stressful. Things in life are meant to have order. But when the rules you follow have no bend and torture everyone around you...are those rules worth following?

How many times has he longed to do something that completely shattered every rule that was ever set for him? To eat strawberry tarts. To stay up past his bedtime to see the stars. To play with his friends. To simply exist without having to produce something and prove that he is worth all the effort and suffering his mother went through to create him.

The images from his nightmare play on loop in his head and his words are too jumbled for him to even parse them. He falls on his back, staring up at the canopy of his bed, desperately taking breaths that feel completely unproductive. The world is spinning and his body is numb, detached completely from him.

He closes his eyes and tries to organize his thoughts. He can’t continue like this. He can’t exist like this. This is far from the first nightmare he’s woken up from, but it’s the worst. Somewhere deep down, he knew he was wrong, but it’s not easy admitting that the way he’s been following his whole life is flawed. It’s not easy to admit that he’s been a tyrant and a monster, and that he has to work hard to make it up to every person he’s ever wronged. Where does he even start?

What are the rules for that sort of thing?

How does he make up for the way he’s treated Cater and Trey like servants instead of friends? How does he make up to the dorm residents for the ways he’s made their lives miserable? How does he make it up to the first years for the torture they’d only gotten a taste of.

Ah! The tart. That was a start. That was a concrete way to begin. Sure, it was hardly anything, but it was something he knew how to do...mostly.

And what better way to explore this world where he could do things that weren’t perfectly planned out or decided for him by some rule book, then by making a strawberry tart at 3 in the morning in the dorm’s kitchen when no one was awake? Besides, it meant there was no one to judge how well he did. 

That is of course how Riddle found himself in his pjs in the kitchen grateful there was enough in the fridge to make the tart that he could present tomorrow as an apology. If the fridge was empty, well then, he wasn’t sure how he’d continue.

“Tarts at 3 in the morning, How unusual~” And Riddle is glad that he’s maybe just dissociated enough that he doesn’t scream in terror when Che’nya’s face appears on top of the fridge. Che’nya drapes himself leisurely over the edges of the fridge, his hair falling as he looks at Riddle upside down.

“How do you even get in here half the time…” Riddle wonders out loud before moving to the bookcase in the kitchen that contained all the recipe books that Trey kept in there. Riddle doesn’t ask Che’nya directly because he knows he won’t get an answer. He’s always been good at answering without answering.

“Hm? Well, it’s because I want to be here. To see you, Riddle.” And Riddle makes the mistake to turn around only to meet yellow eyes that are as unreadable as they’ve always been. There’s a hint of something that Riddle feels like he hasn’t seen since that first day. A hint of fondness that feels warmer.

“You’re breaking a lot of rules to be here. We are rival schools after all.” Riddle gives a pout before turning back to the recipe books, trying to pick the one that has all the desert recipes in it. Che’nya rests his chin on the top of Riddle’s head, humming a tune he’s heard before.

In fact…

_ The first day of school. His first day in the garden. There’s something about this moment that strikes him, making his whole body feel like it’s buzzing. Maybe it’s the fact that he has so much to live up to. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing less than the best will be accepted. Maybe though..maybe it’s the fact that he can exist outside of her gaze for the first time truly in his life. _

_ A tune plays in the garden further away from the dorm building. It’s not one he’s ever heard before but it has an air of whimsy to it. He should really head to his room. He doesn’t want to be late after all. Yet...he’s drawn. _

_ “Riddle~” Che’nya is suddenly behind him, chin on his shoulder. “Congrats! Your first day at magic school! I have a present for you, if you want it…” _

_ “Ah! Che’nya. You really shouldn’t be here. We’re rivals now…” Riddle takes a step forward and turns to face him frowning. “It’s against the rules for non-students to be on campus.” _

_ “Hmmm.” Che’nya looks away for a moment, before taking a step forward. “Do you want your present? To mark your first steps here as your own person.” There’s a spark of something in his eyes that makes Riddle's stomach turn. _

_ “...o-oka-” And before Riddle can even finish, Che’nya presses his lips against his quickly. The kiss is chaste, but it’s still...a kiss. _

_ “T-that was my first kiss!” Riddle frowns because it’s not completely unwelcomed. It’s just... “You can’t jus-” _

_ “Congrats~! I look forward to seeing you become you~!” And with that Che’nya disappears the usual way leaving a flustered Riddle in his wake. _

“I think you’ve found that rules are not all they’re cracked up to be.” And with that Che’nya is sitting on the counter, hanging off the edge upside down. “Some are important, but what is more important is-”

“Friends.” Riddle answers as he pulls the book he was looking for out and turns to see Che’nya. He opens his mouth to tell him to move from the counter, but there isn’t much harm at the spot he’s chosen.

“Congrats, Riddle.” Che’nya says in a laugh, his cheshire grin bright enough that Riddle looks away to organize his ingredients. “On making your steps to really being you.”

“...I took too long to get here.” Riddle mumbles as he starts measuring out ingredients, his hands ever so shaky. “I’ve done too much, Che’nya. How can I ever make up for my reign as a tyrant. How can I lead my dorm when I have hurt them so much? I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know what to do.”

“Be you.” Che’nya says simply as he takes a pinch of sugar out of the bag and eats it. Riddle smacks his hand with a spoon with a huff. Che’nya laughs and paws at the spoon. “Be honest~!”

“I’m not sure I’m capable of both.” Riddle sighs, mixing ingredients based on what the recipe instructs. “My feelings are….mad. Absolutely wild. Without the rules and proper procedures to reign them in, I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to do things...on the fly like those first years seem so good at doing…”

“Hmmmmm~” Che’nya sticks his finger in the mix of dry ingredients and then taps Riddle on the nose. “We’re all a little mad, Riddle. Feelings are like that. Be willing to just try! For instance, you like them, don’t you? Trey. Cater. The first years too!” He taps Riddle on the face a few more times as he says each name. Riddle smacks his hand away with the spoon.

“They’re all nice, yes. Better than I deserve.” Riddle continues to follow the instructions as if Che’nya didn’t just make a mess on the table. There really wasn’t that much displaced. Probably. Deep breaths.

“You want to hold hands~. And kiss them~. And be close. Don’t you? Don’t you?” Che’nya disappears and reappears behind him, arms around your waist. “I can see the way you look at them. Just like the way I look at you~. You’ve only been a tyrant because you wanted what was best. You just had a really terrible understanding of it.” Che’nya hums for a moment before nuzzling into Riddle’s shoulder. This of course almost causes Riddle to drop the bowl on the ground. 

“I. That isn’t- Well I suppose-” Riddle starts and stops and stumbles over his words as his face gets redder and redder. His desperate attempts to make himself look less like an embarrassed mess are interrupted by the sound of the oven having reached the right temperature. He hadn’t actually remembered to set it, but he could guess that Che’nya probably had at the start of this conversation.

“..Just because I feel that way, doesn’t mean it’s returned.” Riddle mumbles, looking down at the sad attempt of crust for his tart. “Doesn’t mean I deserve it.” Because he doesn’t. Nothing he can do can even start to make up for everything that he’s done.

“Hm~.” Che’nya disappears and reappears in front of him, sitting on the counter again. “I think you should just talk to them. Just ask! You can just ask, you know?” Che’nya leans forward, nearly getting his clothes in a mess on the counter, and presses his lips to Riddle’s softly. He pulls away once Riddle kisses back and laughs when Riddle turns bright red, stuttering.

“Who wouldn’t want to kiss you when you’re so cute afterwards~” Che’nya laughs again, and Riddle doesn’t even grant that an answer. He turns around to shove the crust in the oven and set a timer. His face feels like it’s on fire. His heart is racing. Just ask people? Just ask people to be close. To kiss? People really just do that?

“I’m not cute!” Riddle finally retorts, turning around with a huff and narrowed eyes. This, of course, only makes Che’nya laugh even harder at him. Grumbling, Riddle starts to chop up the strawberries, his face the same color as the strawberries.

“You are though~!” Che’nya steals a strawberry, narrowly avoiding Riddle hitting him with a spoon again. “Such a cute little strawberry, Riddle~. I bet everyone just wants to eat you up.” That time Che’nya does not avoid the spoon that Riddle smacks his hands with. Riddle is practically shaking in embarrassment at that kind of comment.

“That kind of comment is incredibly inappropriate. I expect better from you.” Riddle narrows his eyes, puffing his cheeks out before turning to the cabinets to look for the secret ingredient for the cream. Anything to be not facing Che’nya who’s a bit much to handle at the moment.

“Is that Oyster Sauce?” Che’nya says as Riddle turns back to face him with said bottle in his hands. The look on his face is unreadable, as it always is. It is a weird thing to add, but Trey did insist on it being a secret ingredient. Who is he to fight against the master baker? 

“Trey says it’s the secret ingredient.” Riddle frowns. “But I’m not sure how much to add…” There’s nothing in this recipe book about it, which means it must be a well kept secret. He’d hate for the tart to be missing something when he offers it up as his apology tart. It’s bad enough it’s shape looks like something a child would have put together.

“Well…” Che’nya takes the bottle out of his hands turning it over. “If you say it’s a secret ingredient, then it’s a secret ingredient. You should add whatever you think is correct.” There’s that weird crypticness that Che’nya more usually has. It’s weird the way he switches between cryptic and...mischievously honest in a way that’s always made Riddle feel unsettled and strangely...comforted.

“...I’m not sure you’re always the one to take advice from.” Riddle frowns pouring what he feels is probably the right amount into the mixture. Hopefully, this tart ends up...edible at the bare minimum.

“Perhaps I am. Perhaps I’m not~” Che’nya cackles in a way that he hasn’t personally seen in awhile, and Riddle can’t help but let out a soft laugh, a pink color blooming in his cheeks unlike the reds from his anger. Che’nya’s eyes soften and suddenly he appears in front of him, nearly putting his hand in the mixture to press his lips against his again.

“Congrats again, Riddle.” Che’nya whispers, soft and unlike him. “I told you long ago you weren’t your mother. Embrace what your friends here have given you a chance at. Let loose. Be yourself. I look forward to seeing you.” Che’nya pulls back before taking a finger to the cream and eating some. His expression doesn’t change at all and he laughs again. “I think they’ll certainly enjoy this. You should wait to taste it until you offer it to them. You can bond over it~.”

Maybe Riddle shouldn’t have trusted the devious glint in Che’nya’s eyes, but he can’t help but follow his advice. All of his advice...one step at a time.


End file.
